|sam evans ( werewolf ) . (tamest) wrote in light_of_may,|
@ 2013-02-10 15:00:00
|Entry tags:||2009-09-24, julian, sam|
and the steps taken yesterday will beckon again.
Mrs. Summers -- he couldn’t bring himself to call her Camilla as she’d said he could -- had told him with a smile on her face that he could borrow any of the books he found lying around the house, he didn’t need to ask so long as it didn’t look like one of the younger Summers’ school books. Sam had never gone to school, he wasn’t entirely sure what a school book looked like and what made it so different from other books but he had come to realise that those ones tended to carry heavier scents than the others. A stack of books on the coffee table, slightly skewed at strange angles, had carried the very strong scent of Lotti and so he’d associated those with school and the other wolf immediately and left them alone. There were some shelves with novels and volumes on and it was from those that he had ultimately chosen one to take out onto the back porch with him to read by himself.
There was a chill in the air but it didn’t bother him in the least, he had his layers, fingerless gloves and scarf included, and wolves didn’t feel the cold as much as others might, it was what they were built for. He might be better suited to braving the cold in his animal form with his thick pelt of fur but he was comfortable enough right now as it was. When the porch door opened and Mrs. Summers appeared beside him he’d been about to ask if he was in the way when she set a mug of something down beside him, close enough that he could reach it but not so close that he might knock it over by accident. She gave him a bright, warm smile and then went back into the house without much in the way of comment, leaving Sam to gaze down at the mug of steaming liquid inquisitively. It didn’t look like tea and it didn’t smell like coffee. It smelled sweeter than that.
Sam was still in the process of figuring out just what it was -- and on another level puzzling out just why it had been set down beside him like an offering -- when he caught the scent of another wolf, one he recognised. Instinctively he tensed, his fingers curling around the edges of the borrowed book even tighter, his gaze lifting from the mug and its contents and sweeping over the yard. It wasn’t until he heard someone step onto the patio behind him that he realised the scent had come from that direction. Sam didn’t turn around, just stayed where he was, breathing shallow and uncertain. The last encounter he’d had with this particular wolf had been anything but friendly.